


Watchful

by theycantifyoudontletthem



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, dancer ignatz for context, ferdinand is there. kind of.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29478966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theycantifyoudontletthem/pseuds/theycantifyoudontletthem
Summary: It's not so easy, killing someone you know.
Relationships: Lysithea von Ordelia & Ignatz Victor, Raphael Kirsten/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tw: emetophobia (not at all graphic but certainly could be triggering).
> 
> Context: takes place after the battle at Myrddin Bridge. Mercedes and Linhardt are mentioned because Byleth recruited them. F!Byleth. Verdant Wind spoilers up to this point maybe? If it's there it's not that serious. Also Ignatz is a dancer class because making him kill people feels bad

_It’s happening again._

It was a sense he had developed over the years; he’d always been observant, but tough practice had honed Ignatz’s perception. 

Something was wrong, he realized, his stomach dropping. Far ahead of him, he saw Ladislava, still perched atop her thrashing wyvern, powerful even as blood from a wound across her forehead dripped down into her eyes. Despite her stature, Ignatz noticed she was breathing too heavily, sagging with pain on one side; in front of her, Claude was parrying her blows easily, the blade of his sword scarlet with his opponent’s blood. 

_He’s got it under control._ Ladislava was too focused on Claude to flee like she should have, and it wasn’t a fight she would win.

But she wasn’t the only one they had to concern themselves with. Something was still not right. _Where is it?_ Ignatz thought, drawing his bow from his side without a second thought. He hadn’t used it yet in this battle; staying close by Raphael and Lysithea, he’d been focused on dancing, supporting them, giving directions to their battalion, allowing himself to disappear into the flow of battle. Just like Byleth had told him. And yes, there was Raphael, a blur of fists, jaw gritted as he plowed through some Empire soldiers. 

_But where was Lysithea?_ She was supposed to stay with them at the sidelines, taking out the reinforcements that had been slowly trickling in. Ahead of him, he saw Professor Byleth dash out from an entrance to the fort, sword drawn at her side, hair whipping around her as she searched for something on the battlefield outside- _wasn’t she supposed to be with Hilda and Leonie taking out the other commander in the fort?-_ and then he knew. 

They hadn’t been able to block the passage, so the enemy reinforcements were somewhere else. Somewhere close. 

Moved by some force beyond himself, Ignatz spun around and notched an arrow, letting it fly across the battlefield. For a moment, it disappeared among the clashing of steel against steel, too small and fast to see, traveling towards its target. Like he hadn’t fired anything at all.

Relief washed over him. As always, he was on his mark. There, near the back entrance of the fort, was Lysithea, defenseless, eyes wide with fear before the knight looming over her on horseback. The man was brandishing his lance, seconds from bringing it down upon her, but Ignatz knew the arrow would be upon him before he could strike. He had done it, he had saved her, the Goddess was watching over them like always, and his bow lowered-

Ferdinand von Aegir turned his head, and, impossibly, his eyes locked onto Ignatz. It couldn’t have been. The battlefield was too busy, he was too far away. And yet the gaze in Ferdinand’s eyes was one of astonished recognition, familiar but full of fire, and Ignatz felt himself shrink under its weight, burning-

The arrow reappeared, lodged into Ferindand’s neck, a small splatter of red painted across his skin. It was so simple, clean. 

Before the academy, Ignatz had thought mortal injury was always something dramatic, _befitting_ the one it had been inflicted upon. But more than often, a killing blow was rather anticlimactic. Like this.

Ignatz found himself frozen. He couldn’t move, couldn’t avert his eyes from Ferdinand’s bewildered gaze. For an instant, the knight held a hand up towards his throat, slowly and weakly, grasping at air. 

_He doesn’t understand,_ thought Ignatz blankly. _He didn’t think he could really die._

For a moment, time did not exist. The battlefield did not exist, Lysithea still cowering in front of Ferdinand’s steed, the soldiers- _his friends_ \- fighting around him. It was him and Ferdinand. Ferdinand who was dead and didn’t know it yet. Ferdinand who saw him. Ferdinand who was thinking, in his final moments of life, _Ignatz Victor has injured me._

The knight’s fingers finally brushed up against the piece of metal sticking out of his throat. Ignatz watched, trapped under Ferdinand’s gaze, as his old classmate’s expression morphed into one of disbelief, fingertips coming away slick with red where they’d pulled uselessly at the skin of his neck. Ignatz’s aim had been perfect; the arrow was punched in so deep that it had surely pierced right through him, but Ferdinand was grasping at it as if it was a splinter he could pull out. 

_Why is he still alive?_ Ignatz thought wildly. Someone had to do something, but he was still rooted to the ground, breathless. He couldn’t watch any longer, and he pulled another arrow from his quiver to end it.

Then, in an instant, Ferdinand’s arms went slack, eyes rolling back in his head. He slumped sideways off his horse, hitting the ground with a dull crack that reverberated in Ignatz’ own bones despite the distance between them. The horse, newly freed, took off, leaving its owner discarded and unmoving on the cobblestones.

Ignatz felt numb. He was moving, his feet carrying him as if he did not control them. Vaguely he felt the cool metal of his bow still clutched to his side tightly, as if in a vain attempt to stop his hands from shaking.

“Lysithea,” he heard himself call. “Lysithea, are you injured?”

But he was not looking at Lysithea. He was transfixed, staring down at the crumpled form of Ferdinand von Aegir, whose long orange hair had spilled around him like a halo. _Had his hair always been that long?_

Ignatz couldn’t remember. He couldn’t breathe. Ferdinand’s neck was completely scarlet now, blood running like a stream from the hole in his throat. It was getting in his beautiful hair, coagulating, ruining it, staining it. His eyes were ruined too, glassy, staring emptily up at the peaceful midday sky above. Blood was even pooling underneath his body, from some injury caused by his fall no doubt- it was washing slowly over the cobblestones, inching its way towards Ignatz’s feet, sure to permeate the thin leather and cloth of his sandals when it reached him.

But Ignatz’s arrow was unmarred where it protruded from Ferdinand’s body, its silver metal glinting in the sun as if no one had ever touched it. 

Someone was touching him, pulling him, tearing him away from the river of blood rushing towards him. Ignatz nearly tripped over his own feet, but she steadied him, catching him. 

“Ignatz, we can’t stay out here,” Lysithea was saying, leading him away, but he wasn’t listening. He was back with Ferdinand, feeling the life drain from his body, the light from his eyes. Ignatz’s body ached. Maybe he was dying, too. 

_The way he stared at me,_ he thought wildly, stumbling again. _It must have been- some kind of spell._ He was wounded, he had to be, somehow, from the sheer force of that gaze. It had cut through him, marked him forever, a murderer-

* * *

Ignatz fell out of his bed, covered in sweat, shivering so hard he could barely move. Struggling to his feet, he just barely managed to make it to the pail he now kept in the corner of his room before he vomited.

After a few minutes, he sat back unsteadily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He couldn’t stop shaking; it was making him feel feverish.

He closed his eyes to focus on his breath for a moment, just like Mercedes had told him so long ago. It was more difficult than usual. _In, out,_ he thought, trying to control himself. _Goddess, let my mind be peaceful._

Ferdinand’s bloodstained corpse flashed through his mind again, and his eyes snapped open.

Twelve days since the battle at the bridge, and every night had been exactly the same. After he’d been having the nightmare for a couple of nights, he’d learned to keep the bucket in his room. It was better than ruining his rug, at least. 

Ignatz crawled across the floor to his bed, managing to pull himself up to flop exhausted onto the bedspread. Every part of his body ached to give in and go back to sleep. But each time his eyes began to slip closed, he was seized by a new wave of panic.

_I can’t go back to sleep,_ he thought, staring up into the darkness. _It’s just going to happen again._

Even though throwing up had taken a lot out of him, he forced himself to stand up and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand. Maybe going on a walk would help calm him down. At the very least, he could go wash his mouth out.

* * *

It was a pleasant night, a cool breeze blowing through the monastery. Ignatz was still feeling a little overheated even though he’d washed his face, and the gentle wind was quite soothing. Still, his heart was racing uncomfortably fast in his chest, and his legs weren’t moving as smoothly as he wished they would. Lack of sleep was catching up with him.

Luckily, he didn’t see anyone else out but a couple of inattentive soldiers standing watch. The monastery was so empty at night these days. _Not like it used to be._

His throat tightened at the thought. _That’s such a useless way to think._ It would just make everything worse if he dwelled on the way things used to be. Ferdinand existed in those memories, not as an imposing knight or a decaying corpse. Just as some other person who he passed sometimes in the courtyard, in the dining hall.

It wasn’t like Ignatz had never taken someone’s life before. Even when he’d been a teenager, he’d killed bandits and some of those soldiers who’d turned out to be Edelgard’s. He didn’t like it very much, that was for sure, but it was a necessary evil. Though he was infinitely grateful that he’d been allowed to start training as a dancer after a while. Even then, he didn’t neglect his training with the bow, had never hesitated to draw it when it was needed. It was his responsibility to protect his allies, whether that was the soldiers under his command or commoners under attack. Or his friends. That’s what the professor had told him.

_If I hadn’t killed Ferdinand, he would still be dead right now. But Lysithea would have died too._

It was true, but it didn’t change anything. It just made him ashamed. Lysithea was his friend. She was probably one of his closest friends these days after Raphael, actually. She was one of the most brilliant people he’d ever met, so serious sometimes that it was amusing. And even though she’d been as needlessly mean to him as ever in the first month after the reunion, she’d pretty much cut it out after a while. (Ignatz was half-sure it was because Leonie had yelled at her about it, but either way, she’d stopped.) Some of Ignatz’s fondest memories since they’d reunited at the monastery involved Lysithea. Sitting quietly in the library with her and Linhardt, poring over a mountain of books between them. Trying out a new flavor of tea he’d bought at the marketplace, her eyes crinkling with delight at the sweetness. The focused determination, the self-assured straightness of her jaw as he watched her practice her magic at the training grounds, powerful and graceful. _It isn’t fair to her._ His heart twisted.

But Ignatz hadn’t ever killed someone he’d known before.

It wasn’t that Ferdinand had been his friend or anything. They hadn’t ever actually talked, he was pretty sure. For the most part, Ignatz had been too timid to approach students from other classes. And in group settings, he tended to fade into the background, becoming an observer. So no one approached him, either. There were a few things Ignatz knew about Ferdinand- he liked knights, he was pretty proud of himself- but he was certain there was nothing Ferdinand knew about _him._ To that guy, someone like Ignatz was nothing. A nonissue.

Was that it, then? Ferdinand lived for twenty-something years, went through all that training, built relationships, had private moments of self reflection maybe, all to have his life ended unceremoniously by a… nonissue? And now everything he had been was lost. 

When he blinked, he could see Leonie in Ferdinand’s place, being felled by some random blow. Chance, really. A moment of distraction from her, no one watching her back, and the axe was tearing through her stomach. And her life was over. Even though she was someone Ignatz ate dinner with, sketched sometimes, someone he loved.

It was all so… _pointless._ He shuddered.

He rounded the corner and ran right into someone, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Ouch! Don’t you watch where you’re going?” complained Lysithea from beneath him. _Oh._ He had fallen on top of her, he realized, and hastily picked himself up.

“I’m so sorry, Lysithea,” he said, holding out his hand to her. She took it, pulling herself to her feet and dusting off her robes, but she didn’t seem angry at him.

“Just be more careful next time.” 

“What are you doing out here this late?” Ignatz asked, the words falling out before he could stop them. _I thought you were afraid of ghosts,_ he nearly added before stopping himself- that was bound to get her scrunching up her nose at him angrily, even if it was probably still true.

“I was just at the library doing some research,” she replied, quartz-pink eyes glittering under the light of the moon. “There’s a couple of spells I need to work on before our next battle. As you know, our enemies have more resources than we do, so we have to be as prepared as possible.”

Ignatz winced, and Lysithea looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Are you alright? You didn’t hit your head, did you?” she asked.

“N-no, I’m fine. It’s just…” He searched for what to say for a moment, but it was hard to find the words with Lysithea staring expectantly at him. “...To be honest, I’d rather not talk about the war right now,” he finished finally.

“Oh. Well then, I guess I understand.” Lysithea smiled at him, small but genuine, and it sent a shock through him. After a moment, though, it dropped away, leaving her characteristically serious. “Ignatz… You’re doing okay, aren’t you?”

Ignatz froze. “What?” he managed, fighting the urge to cross his arms tightly across his chest.

“You haven’t seemed well recently. Ever since the battle last month, you haven’t been very focused.” Her delivery was as stern as ever, but he could sense concern in the way she was looking at him. _Like she pities me._

“I… I’m not sure what you mean,” Ignatz lied, his mouth dry. He needed to get away from her. He didn’t want her to look at him like that. His breath was turning shallow and quick. _Focus. Calm down._

But Lysithea was continuing, the gentle smile returning to her face. “Anyway, I want to express my thanks to you, Ignatz. I feel as though I never got to say it properly.” Despite her expression, her tone was somber; it just made Ignatz’s stomach hurt. “I was careless in the last battle, and it almost cost me my life. But you saved me, and for that I am grateful to you.” 

She reached her small hand out to him, lithe fingers just brushing his arm, a kind gesture. 

_Lysithea. She was lying lifeless on the ground before him, her beautiful white hair turned crimson, limbs twisted unnaturally. Ribs were cracked under her skin from the impact of the lance buried deep in her chest, the pale flesh where her robe had been torn away blooming hideous shades of purple. Blood poured from her slack-jawed mouth. It was staining her lips red, empty eyes boring lifelessly into him-_

“I’m so sorry!” He jumped back, the intensity of his shout causing Lysithea to flinch. She didn’t seem to get it; her lips parted slightly, like she was going to say something. 

“I just… I need to be alone right now, I’m sorry, I can’t talk about this,” he babbled, blood rushing in his ears, and before she could respond, he was running away, hardly feeling the ground beneath his feet.

He had no idea where he was going. Who could he even talk to? Obviously not Lysithea, that much was clear to him. The professor was out of the question, too. She scared him now, a chilling deep terror overtaking him every time he was around her. It had been bothering him ever since he had seen her cut Ashe down, striking with her Relic before he even had the chance to notch an arrow into his bow. It was so senseless, so unnecessary. _Why didn’t you just let him get away,_ he wanted to ask her sometimes, _all we had to do was defeat the commander. He would have run, he didn't need to die, it wasn’t even his cause, not really._

Ashe had a life, and what had he died for? Absolutely nothing. _He didn't need to die,_ he thought again, grief gripping his heart. If he was being honest with himself, he knew next to nothing about Ashe, but somehow he felt like the two of them were similar. He’d always observed Ashe as being kind of out-of-place, small, earnest. Like they could have been friends if they’d ever hung out. He hoped Ashe’d had a proper funeral, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t come up with anyone who would have gone through all that entailed. _He’s probably lying in a pile of bodies somewhere,_ he thought, and bile rose in the back of his throat.

_If they can die,_ a mean voice sneered from the back of his mind, _so can your friends. If you let them down._

He was digging his nails into his forearms without realizing he was doing it, leaving small crescents of indented skin. _I can’t be alone right now,_ he told himself, despite what he had yelled at Lysithea. He needed someone who wouldn’t expect anything of him, who could distract him. Someone who didn’t _need_ to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get Ignatz tag to 1000 fics challenge


	2. care

He found himself standing outside Raphael’s room, but he didn’t recall walking there. Whether it was from the consistent lack of sleep or the deluge of thoughts whirling around in his head, everything felt distant, foggy. From behind himself, he watched as his hand lifted and knocked on the door.

After a few knocks, he heard movement. “‘S there?” came a voice heavy with sleep. 

Ignatz felt slightly guilty. He hadn’t even talked to Raphael in a few days, and here he was waking him up in the middle of the night. “Raphael, it’s Ignatz.” There was silence for a few more moments, so he added, “Is it alright if I come in?”

“Hol’ on.” After a minute, the door opened, Raphael yawning but standing aside to let Ignatz enter. Ignatz glanced around; the room was dark, but enough moonlight filtered through the window on the far wall that he could make out clothes and armor strewn across the floor.

“Sorry about the mess,” Raphael said, as if he had read Ignatz’s mind. “I was kinda tired after training today, so I didn’t really clean up.”

Ignatz shrugged, still turned away from him. “It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me at all.” There was a nervous energy running through him, his hands wringing, thumb rubbing circles into his palm. It was better than hyperventilating, though, so he let himself stand there in the center of the room, surrounded by Raphael’s discarded garments, until he heard the door click shut behind him.

“So, what’s up, Ignatz? It’s pretty late, isn’t it?” 

Ignatz turned his head slightly; Raphael sounded a bit more awake, and he sat down on the bed, the springs creaking loudly. 

“Um, I was just going on a walk,” he lied, sort of.

Raphael looked at him strangely.

 _Well, he doesn’t believe me._ But Ignatz hadn’t expected him to, anyway. He was pretty gullible when it came to certain things, but he’d always been able to see right through Ignatz. But that was why he’d come to Raphael, right? He’d understand without knowing why. He wouldn’t ask questions.

He realized Raphael had been patting the surface of the bed beside him, and he crossed the room to sit there. But he couldn’t say anything, couldn’t come up with any response, just stared down at his hands fidgeting against each other in his lap.

Suddenly there was a hand resting on Ignatz’s back, its weight and size familiar, the warmth of it burning him through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. Gently, Ignatz allowed his head to rest against Raphael’s shoulder and closed his eyes, ignoring the way his glasses were pressing uncomfortably into his temple. He hoped Raphael was closing his eyes too; where Ignatz’s ear was pressed to him, the steady thump of his heart was peaceful.

“You feeling okay?” Raphael’s tone was gentle, rumbling, but Ignatz stiffened.

“...yeah,” he mumbled into the fabric against his cheek after a moment. He wanted to hide his expression in the crook of Raphael's neck. Disappointingly, Raphael was too tall for that, even sitting down.

“I’m just… exhausted, to be honest,” Ignatz added reluctantly. But with the confession, the arm wrapped around him relaxed slightly.

“That’s not good. How come?”

“I-I guess I must be worn out from training or something. Or I’ve been going out for painting supplies too much. I just…” He trailed off. 

_Another lie Raphael will see right through. I haven’t been out of the monastery or even to the training grounds in days._ The mere thought of touching his bow made his blood run cold. 

And he couldn’t bring himself to paint right now. He’d tried to work on a couple of old pieces in his room, but he ended up sitting there for hours without making even a single brush stroke. Each color on his palette reminded him of something grotesque; he let the circles of paint rest there until they had dried onto the wood and he had to scrub to get them out. As he’d watched the reds and blues swirl down the drain, a complete waste of all the little precious ingredients he’d been gathering for so long, tears had pricked the corners of his vision. But Ignatz hadn’t let himself cry over it. _What a stupid thing to cry over,_ he’d thought, wiping his sleeve across his eyes so hard it hurt. 

Raphael’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just, you look like you’re sick or somethin’. And I haven’t seen you around very much, either.”

“I’m really sorry-” Ignatz started, but Raphael was going on. 

“I miss hanging out with you! Especially before our next battle. It’s going to be a pretty big one. Gotta keep up our training, right?”

“I wish we didn’t have to talk about the war,” Ignatz blurted before he could stop himself. His own heartbeat was pounding in his ears, the rush of blood deafening.

Raphael shifted. Ignatz didn’t dare to look up, but he was pretty sure if he did, Raphael would be staring down at him with those unguarded, concerned eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. We don’t have to talk about it, okay? You’re shaking pretty hard.”

Ignatz realized he was right; when he looked down at his palms, they were trembling badly. “Ah, um, I just- I haven’t been able to sleep recently, and I th-think it’s taking a toll on me, or something,” he stammered.

Raphael was silent, motionless except for his hand slowly rubbing circles into Ignatz’s back. For his part, Ignatz closed his eyes again, trying to control himself, pressing his forehead into Raphael’s bicep. _It’s not working,_ he thought, opening his eyes a sliver to see his hands were still shaking uncontrollably. But numbness was overtaking his body; it had been slowly washing over him since he’d sat down. In fact, if Raphael hadn’t pointed it out, he wondered if he’d have even noticed his own shivering. 

“You alright?” Raphael said finally, his voice low and much closer to Ignatz’s ear than he was expecting; he flinched, turning his head finally and almost bumping his nose on Raphael’s.

“Um.” Ignatz felt frozen, but looking up, he noticed that Raphael was looking at him with a worried furrow of his brows, nothing more serious than that. The hand on his shoulder had stopped its motion, pulling him close into an embrace. His cheek was pressed up against Raphael’s chest; he could feel the motion of his breathing. Something confusing, something tight, was blossoming in Ignatz’s chest.

“Wanna spend the night in here?” Raphael murmured. “Maybe it’ll be easier for you to get to sleep, so you’ll feel a little better tomorrow.”

 _That would be wonderful._ The words were right in front of him; he just had to agree, and he could be asleep in seconds, if not wrapped in Raphael’s arms then at least pressed alongside him. It sounded nice. 

But to his dismay, when he closed his eyes, hints of orange and crimson and white flashed in front of him, threatening to overwhelm him once more. He couldn’t go to sleep. Not yet. Not right now. He needed a distraction, he realized, and just like that, a path of action became clear to him. The tactical thinking he’d been absorbing from the professor was sometimes a curse, and it certainly was right now; it was unfolding before him, the actions he needed to take to regain control. To banish the ghosts from haunting him for at least a short while. It was within his reach. 

Or, at least, _he_ was within _its_ reach right now.

 _This is an awful idea,_ he thought, dread washing over him. But Raphael was there for him, supporting him, and they were so, so close. And he didn’t want to lay there all night replaying the moment when the arrow pierced Ferdinand’s neck, imagining Lysithea or Leonie or Raphael’s breath gasping ragged through shattered lungs, sensing the seconds before the next mass slaughter slip away from him like paint swirling down the sink. So he leaned up and pressed his mouth to Raphael’s, hand coming up to cup his cheek.

 _I’m a horrible person,_ Ignatz thought, pressing his body harder against the curve of Raphael’s chest. _He’s my best friend. He just wants to help me._ But all the same, the warmth that pooled in his chest when Raphael sighed softly into his mouth and began kissing him back, arms slipping around his waist, was the realest thing he’d experienced in days. Not breaking the kiss, Raphael leaned back, strong arms supporting Ignatz as he lowered them both down. When he was lying completely on the bed, Ignatz broke away and pressed his forehead against Raphael’s neck. 

Guilt seized him again, and his stomach twisted. He had known that Raphael would kiss him back. The benefit of being such a forgettable person was that Ignatz could observe people quite well. Besides, it was his job to know what the conditions on the field were, and part of that was knowing where the potential distractions lied. Like romantic interests. 

Hilda and Marianne took their tea together nearly every afternoon, Mercedes’s voice became even softer than usual somehow when she spoke to the professor, Leonie wouldn’t leave poor Linhardt alone for a minute (and boy, Ignatz was pretty sure she was barking up the wrong tree on that one). And Raphael was always _staring_ at him. As if there was something there to stare at.

He should have felt happy that someone as kind as Raphael was interested in him, but recently it had been annoying him. _It’s irresponsible,_ Ignatz thought, splaying his fingers across Raphael’s chest. The anger flaring up inside him was washing away the guilt, and he leaned into it. _Things like that get you killed. There’s no time for something as trivial as that at a time like this._ Suddenly he thought of his art supplies lying untouched under his own bed. He pushed it away by pressing a kiss to Raphael’s neck, open mouthed but gentle.

Above him, Raphael gasped, hand tangling in Ignatz’s hair. “Ignatz. Whoa,” he mumbled, and Ignatz could feel the rumble of his voice through where his tongue was laving against the base of Raphael’s throat. “Is this why you came here tonight? I had no idea you-”

“Shh.” Raphael fell silent, and Ignatz relaxed again. _There we go._ This, at least, was going just as he’d figured it would. He ran a hand down Raphael’s broad chest to his stomach, relishing the feel of his solid muscles, body heat radiating through his shirt into Ignatz’s light touch. Underneath his fingertips, against his mouth, Raphael was moving, making noises Ignatz was hardly paying attention to. He was so present, so _real_ , Ignatz thought, and he found himself swinging a leg over Raphael’s hips, straddling him, hand traveling further down to slip under Raphael’s waistband as he rested his head on that broad chest. 

_That’s it._ His hand ghosted over Raphael’s dick. He’d seen him naked in the sauna before (which should _not_ have been the case, but this was Raphael, after all) but the size felt more intimidating under his palm. _Whatever,_ he resolved, ignoring the anxiety rising in his chest. _This is what I wanted._

“No, hold on.” Suddenly Raphael was pushing him away gently, and panic gripped Ignatz. Had he miscalculated that badly? But when he withdrew his hand and sat back, raising his head, he saw that Raphael just looked confused.

“Is everything okay?” Ignatz asked, acutely aware of his own heartbeat all of a sudden.

Raphael paused. “It’s just,” he said finally, “this feels really weird, doesn’t it?”

“What… what do you mean?” Ignatz was beginning to feel faintly ridiculous; his legs were on either side of Raphael’s body, which was slightly too far apart to be comfortable. He suddenly regretted the decision to get on top in the first place.

The frown on Raphael’s face deepened. “You know, at first when you kissed me… it made me so happy. ‘Cause I’ve liked you for a super long time, but I didn’t really know what to do about it.”

Ignatz’s stomach sank, but he nodded anyway, a bit numbly.

“But you’re acting so weird. And I haven’t even seen you in days. Not at training, not even at dinner.” The volume of his voice was rising gradually, but he didn’t seem belligerent. Just worried. “And then next thing I knew, your hand was on my dick! It’s not like you at all!”

Ignatz forced a laugh, but it sounded fake even to his own ears. “I must have been nervous or something. I’m really sorry I came across like-”

“Nah.” Ignatz’s breath caught in his throat. “If you’re embarrassed, you get all blushy. And you screw up all your words. This is different. It’s-” Raphael broke off suddenly. “See, you’re still looking at me like that.”

“L… like what?” Ignatz had to force the words out. 

“Like you’re not really trying to look at me!” He huffed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on if you don’t want to, Ignatz. But you’re my best friend. I hate it when you think you need to hide stuff from me.” He paused again. “Sometimes you just make things harder on yourself than they need to be, you know?”

 _Shit._ Ignatz exhaled unsteadily. It was escaping him now; he couldn’t come up with anything to say. He’d fucked it all up for nothing. The solidity of Raphael’s body beneath him was dissipating quickly. He bit the inside of his mouth, vaguely aware that Raphael was still saying something.

It was all getting away from him. His concentration, his awareness, the only reason he mattered in the heat of battle. He was going to fail because of Ferdinand. And he didn’t even _care_ about Ferdinand. 

_What will I do when it’s_ _Raphael who’s dead because of me?_

A hand tapped his forehead. “Hey, Ig? Still in there?”

Ignatz blinked a few times. 

“Did you know that I killed Ferdinand von Aegir?” he asked, his voice sounding calmer in the still air between them than he’d thought it would. 

Raphael nodded, wordless, a shadow crossing his face.

“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to deal with that. Because I knew him. Especially because it’s- it saved Lysithea’s life, and it’s not as if I wish she had died instead.” Tears were welling up in his eyes again; this time, he took his glasses off and put them on the bed, pressing the heels of his hands up to his eyelids.

“What are you doing?”

Ignatz took a deep breath. “I’m trying not to cry.”

“But… how come?”

“I’m an adult, Raphael.” There was a lump forming in his throat. “And there’s nothing I can do about it, so it’s a foolish thing to be crying over.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Raphael sat up a little, propping himself up on his elbows. “You just decided one day hey, I’m Adult Ignatz now, so no more crying for me, right? But that’s stupid. I’m an adult and I cry all the time.”

 _But it’s not right for_ me _to do,_ Ignatz wanted to tell him, but his throat was too tight to speak.

“Crying’s good for you,” Raphael was continuing. “It releases all your bad feelings, or something. Uh, I think that’s what Mercedes told me.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’s not a dumb thing to be crying over, either. It’s awful to have to fight someone you were friends with. I’m just lucky it hasn’t happened to me yet.”

Despite his efforts, Ignatz felt a tear slide down his cheek. “Dammit,” he whispered, the word coming out unsteady and shakily.

“C’mere.” Hands were guiding him off Raphael’s waist, which was a relief for his legs, and back onto the bed. His head landed on a pillow, and he turned to bury his face in the cool fabric. He blinked, and little wet spots formed on the cloth against his lashes when he did.

“Could you please put my glasses somewhere?” he mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow. He felt Raphael moving around, the soft clink of glass being set on wood, and then the bedsheets were being pulled over them both, settling softly around Ignatz’s shoulders. 

Raphael’s arms were wrapping around him then, one settling across his back to pull him close. Ignatz took in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Hey, look at me.” Raphael was whispering, and it made Ignatz’s heart wrench. He turned slightly, allowing half his face to leave the safety of the pillow he had been hiding behind.

One of Raphael’s hands cupped his cheek, calloused finger swiping gently across his cheek to catch a tear. “See,” he murmured, “you just gotta let it out.” Ignatz felt more tears spring to his eyes, traitorously, even as he repeated the words in his mind: _It’s a waste, you can’t change it, don’t let it distract you, such a fucking waste._

Raphael dipped his head, pressing a small kiss to Ignatz’s forehead. “You know I’m always here for you,” he said, so plainly, so warmly, that it broke Ignatz’s heart finally, and he began to weep.

If he was being honest, not allowing himself to cry for so long, he’d expected the moment where he really let himself go to be more dramatic. Loud wailing, sobs wracking his body and breaking him into little pieces, all that stuff. The kind of thing that would be enshrined in a painting. But instead, there were just more tears than before slipping so silently, so delicately down his cheeks. It didn’t rip through him, it didn’t hurt, it didn’t wake up the entire monastery to cast judgment upon him. He was just… crying.

 _Maybe I really do need to stop building things up to be bigger than they are,_ he thought wearily. His arms were pressed up against Raphael’s chest; he clutched the fabric of the other man’s shirt and leaned fully into his arms, exhaling slowly.

“See. You’re fine. I’m right here, Ig.” Those big hands were tracing circles into his back, into muscles that Ignatz was just now realizing were stiff and aching. That soft voice, gently curling itself around his ears, was preventing him from falling back into his own mind.

He really didn’t deserve a friend like Raphael. Few people did, really. _But, whether I deserve him or not, he’s here right now,_ Ignatz thought. _Even though it’s me._

Raphael was still gazing down at him, eyes sweeping gently over Ignatz’s tear-streaked face, his body where they were pressed together. Not like he was nothing, not like he was some pitiful creature, not like he was a fucking murderer.

 _He’s wrong,_ Ignatz thought. But he was so tired. And Raphael was holding him like he was something precious, but not fragile, clutching him, fingertips pressing insistently into his back and arms. It was a nice reminder of his own solidity, Ignatz decided, and he let himself cry quietly into Raphael’s shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter might take a little while because I'm having trouble getting it to go exactly where I want it to.


End file.
